Elrohir strode rapidly along the corridor towards his father’s study, mind seething with anger at the thought of being in the presence of one who had hurt his little brother so much. His ire lent wings to his feet, as did his fears for Legolas; the prince had obviously been hiding his true state of health from them this morning. While he was angry about this, Elrohir’s primary emotion was that of guilt. Guilt that he had not noticed Legolas’ suffering; guilt and worry that it may have become worse through their neglect of him. Pausing outside the study, he took several deep breaths, fists clenched, as he strove to force down his anger. The bright sunlight entering through the patterned window, above, belied the depression and angst that had seemingly pervaded their house since the return of the errant wanderers last night. Eventually his anger was manageable, and he stepped closer, preparing to knock on the door. He was stopped by a sudden sound from within, and halted, listening.

~*~*~*~*~

Elrond paced over to gaze out of the window at the bright sunshine that cascaded through the leafy branches, lightening the grounds. As he stood there watching, he could hear the loud voices of merry children, skipping and playing; families picnicking together outside. Rivendell reverberated with a multitude of singing, happy families; it depressed him.

Raising one of his folded arms, he rested his elbow on the other, hand rubbing wearily at his rough, reddened eyes, trying to wipe away the gritty feel and accompanying headache. Failing, he re-crossed his arms in front of him and leaned against the window frame, resting his head back against the wall; eyes raised skyward as if in prayer. He breathed deeply, held it and then released it, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest, or the fear that had settled into his stomach. His hand reflexively clutched at the book clenched in his right hand, as he fought to keep the memories at bay.

Unclasping his hands, holding the book pressed against his chest he resumed his pacing. Marching over to the desk, he gazed down at the multitude of papers scattered over it in no particular order. Muttering, he seated himself, oblivious to the presence of Elrohir outside the door.

“Ah Celebrian, would that you were here now, that I could have someone to confide in, to share this pain with,” he whispered.

Smoothing the papers to one side, he picked up a gracefully drawn sketch, that always sat on his desk, and gazed at it, tears falling from his eyes. After long minutes, lost at first in more pleasant memories, he blinked his tears away. Their passing had eased much of the soreness in his eyes, and he resumed picking through the accumulated notes.

~*~*~*~*~

Elrohir, listening just outside his father’s door, was unashamed to eavesdrop on him. Their father had not thought to keep them informed on Legolas’ condition and he felt it was his duty to discover what was wrong, and so help his brothers and friend. Realising that the thick wooden door was dense enough to muffle the sound into obscurity at his current distance, he shamelessly crept forward and leant his ear against it. Abruptly the distorted sounds became clearer, and he was able to pick up on his father’s disjointed mutterings. As he listened, he heard the turning of a page, and then a sigh.

“It induces at first euphoria and hallucinations. While initially these are fulfilling, the progression of time seems to dull the herb’s effects, and the victim begins to yearn for what they have lost. The hallucinations became nightmarish renditions of events, torturing the mind.”

Elrond seemed to be reading a passage describing some symptoms.

“I cannot comprehend this, the euphoria should cause the mind to imagine the fulfilment of dreams, not relive darkest memories; there is no explanation for this change.” His father’s voice had changed to frustration, mirroring that of the author of the extract.

Elrohir leaned closer, trying to hear what followed. Unfortunately his father’s pacing, and the rustle of papers, drowned out his words. Eventually, the scrape of the chair against the tiled floor indicated that his father seated himself again. His broken voice began reciting another section of passage, causing Elrohir’s eyes to widen with horror at the distress in Elrond’s voice. There was only one time he had ever heard its equal, and he cared not to think on that time. Ever.

“The change was quite remarkable. The depression lifted astonishingly well but, alas, it appears to be only a temporary situation. The elation faded quite rapidly, and the depression returned, if anything worse than before. The administration of a third dose caused another temporary period of euphoria, but the depression suffered afterwards was markedly worse. The nightmarish dreams, tormented the victim with remembrance of the more pleasant ones, and this was combined with damaging physical effects. The victim experiences terrible pain, loss of muscular control, eventually declining into a lack of mental coherency…”

Elrohir started in horror, at the awful fate described within these passages.

“Once completed, I will hide these notes; none other than myself shall know of their location. The information contained within is too dangerous should dark forces get hold of them, and infinitely too precious too me, despite the heartache described within. Few know of the events detailed here, it is limited to three, and only two are now capable of speaking about them. If it is within my power, none, especially my sons, shall ever learn of these events. Rucin is a…”

Elrond stopped speaking abruptly as the door swung inwards, hit the wall, and then swung back, knocking Elrohir on the head. It had been no longer able to support the young elf’s weight, where he had pressed ever harder against it, seeking to uncover more of the conversation. He stumbled inwards, sinking to the floor as his support was unexpectedly withdrawn.

Elrond jumped, startled as his son burst abruptly through the door. “Elrohir! What in Eru’s name do you think you are doing?” He was furious at his son’s temerity, and more than a little scared at how much he may have overheard. As Elrohir did not answer, he continued. “Well? I am waiting for an explanation. What have you to say for yourself?”

Elrohir was more than a little dazed, and had only just begun to collect himself up off the floor, thus he was unable to form any answer. Elrond slammed the book down onto the desk, heedless to whether it was damaged. Lurching to his feet, muscles stiffened with anger and fatigue, he strode determinedly over to where Elrohir was rising. Grabbing a fistful of his son’s shirt, he hauled him to his feet and thrust him back against the wall. Leaning close to his son, holding him in place with one arm, he spoke in an ice-cold tone that would brook no arguments. “I will only repeat myself one more time before you regret it. Why…were…you…eavesdropping?”

Elrohir did not answer, just looked back at his father. Elrond stood there, breathing heavily, for several minutes until his anger left him at the look of fear and, oh horror, disgust in his son’s eyes. Turning from him, he raised one shaking hand to his head, muttering almost to himself. “Oh, Elrohir, how much did you overhear?”

Elrohir stood there, staring back at his father, confusion warring with anger in his mien. Anger won. “How dare you attack me like that?” Stepping forward after the retreating figure of his father, he clasped a hand to his shoulder and swung him around to face him. “How dare you take the moral high ground with me? You are incommunicative, rude to both Estel and my twin, and now me. You accuse all three of us of idiocy, and now I find that you are concealing information from us. I will not put up with this kind of behaviour any longer. You make me ashamed to claim blood with you.”

Elrond, far from responding in anger, looked relieved, obviously Elrohir had not overheard too much. Lifting his son’s hand from his shoulder he clasped it between both of his. “I have concealed no information from you, regarding Legolas. I have not even examined him today, so how can you accuse me of that?”

Stepping closer to his son he raised a hand to the rising, bruise-accompanied bump situated on the side of Elrohir’s head. “As to idiocy, when my two eldest are sporting large marks of blows to the brain which should have been avoided, well I think you may have just proven my point.”

Elrohir defensively raised a hand to ward off what he thought was an incoming blow, and lowered it at the look of immense sadness that crossed his father’s face, who then backed away. “How can you make jokes at a time like this? Legolas is sick, and getting worse, and you pretend everything is normal.”

The look of mild amusement that had flitted for a brief instant across Elrond’s visage vanished. “How sick? As sick as…” he stopped, unwilling to reveal anymore.

Elrohir’s eyes narrowed. “You have experienced this illness before? Another elf has become ill from Rucin?”

Elrond did not answer this, but the glance at the notes revealed his answer.

“You were reciting symptoms…for Rucin? Legolas is really sickening then. I should not have listened at the door, I should have fetched you immediately as I intended to do. Grabbing his father by the arm he half-guided, half-dragged him towards the door. “Come, gather what herbs you need, and we will treat Legolas. Why you had to delay this long before treating him if you knew what ailed him, I do not know. There is no excuse for a healer who allows his patients to suffer needless pain; you have always taught us that was the first rule of medicine.”

“Elrohir…” His father began, but the son did not give him a chance to continue.

“Do not delay any further Ada. Come!” Elrond was woefully tugged along in his son’s wake.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“This may hurt.”

Glorfindel responded only by raising one eyebrow on his bloodstained face. “You are implying then that this does not already hurt?”

Elladan frowned at him, temper frayed from the earlier events today, and in no mood to mince words with the warrior. “In truth it looks most painful, which is why I am cleaning the dirt from it, and applying a balm to relieve the pain. I thought only to warn you that I am about to do this.” He then wiped a pre-medicated cloth across the largest of the scrapes along Glorfindel left side.

“Ai!” The elf involuntarily released a sharp cry of pain, and Elladan hastily pulled his hand away. He shook his head, “I am sorry, that was harder than I intended. My anger got the best of me.”

“Kindly control it please, I am in no mood to be used as a figurative punching bag.” Glorfindel muttered this out through clenched teeth, eyes compressed in a grimace of pain.

As the healing balm began to lessen the agony in his side, Glorfindel breathed easier, and thought back on Elladan’s words. “You are not usually so inconsiderate of your patient Elladan, what has you so riled up that you are taking it out on me? I do not see that your hair or clothes are dyed, so if it is one of your brothers’ tricks it is more subtle than usual.”

Elladan kept his head down, busying himself with his work. He unrolled a lengthy bundle of bandages and proceeded to wrap it firmly around the chest of the wounded elf, bracing together his broken ribs.

“Elladan, what has happened?” The tone in Glorfindel voice had been perfected over many centuries of training recruits, and Elladan responded automatically, snapping to attention. Glorfindel suppressed a smile at this reaction, while Elladan looked ashamed, and tried to pretend that he had not responded with the fear-induced response he had learned as a novice soldier.

The pain that Glorfindel saw in the young elf’s eyes wiped all thoughts of amusement from his mind. Reaching forward he placed a grazed hand over the younger elf’s, preventing him from fiddling with the bandages, and focussing his attention upon him. “Who is injured?”

When Elladan gaped up at him a wry smile graced Glorfindel’s face. “Many centuries have I seen that same look appear on your father’s features, more often of late, and if he were not otherwise occupied he would be tending me, not you. So it must be something very important to keep him away. ‘Tis obvious you fear greatly for someone close to you, so I ask again who is injured?”

Elladan seated himself on the edge of the table by where Glorfindel reclined on a sofa. “It is Legolas; Estel carried him home last night. He has suffered only a small head injury, and took a minor sword blade to the leg, yet he does not seem to recover.”

Glorfindel looked as puzzled as the eldest twin felt. “How came he by this injury; was there some form of poison on the blade that smote him? Does it fester?”

“No. There are no signs of any cause for his distress, yet he is clearly in pain, even while unconscious; though the blow to his head was not damaging enough to induce these symptoms. He sleeps, yet does not rest; and he seems depressed.”

A brief glimpse of pained memory washed across Glorfindel’s brow, but he pushed that away. “Does Elrond have no suspicions towards the cause of our young prince’s incapacitation?”

Elladan finished bandaging Glorfindel, and fetched him a clean tunic, to protect the badges. When he turned to face Glorfindel, the cause of his anger was plain to see. “Do not speak to me of my father, I am not pleased with him.”

“Is that where you acquired that remarkable bruise?” Glorfindel admired.

“No! Ada would never hit me, how can you even suggest such as thing?” At the elder elf’s questioning look Elladan continued, unable to hold his ire in any longer. “It is not about me, but Estel. Adar sat there, knowing full well my brother was blaming himself for Legolas being hurt, and he outright accused him of responsibility for Legolas’ injuries. He did not examine him, though he looked in enough of a state to have been badly hurt.” Elladan’s eyes gleamed with his anger and confusion over his father’s actions. “Estel has been badly hurt, by father’s words and his own needless assumption of responsibility for events he has no control over. Have you ever known father to act like this?”

“I do not see how your father can blame Estel for a sword wound unless it was he who smote the prince.” Glorfindel looked concerned at this, Aragorn had acquired a reputation for this.

“Nay, not that, he has not done something as amateurish since he was twelve. Why can no one let that go? He is a remarkable swordsman for his age.” Elladan rubbed his leg at memory of that incident.

“Then Legolas stuck himself through with a sword?” Glorfindel was entirely lost at this juncture; Elladan was in too much of an emotional state to explain events precisely.

“No, there were some orcs, it all gets very confusing.” Elladan rubbed his face in fatigue. “It is because father blames him for using a herb on Legolas. Apparently it induced some kind of euphoria that caused him to injure himself.”

Elladan looked closer then at Glorfindel, who had suddenly paled. “Do your injuries still pain you? The balm I gave you should have begun working by now; I must have missed something.”

“Peace Elladan, I am not pained, but troubled by your words. You say Aragorn used a herb, do you know the name of it?” Glorfindel clutched his arm to his chest, riding through a wave of pain.

“I cannot see why that would matter?” Elladan spoke, eying the elder elf worriedly.

“Please Elladan, it is of great importance.” Glorfindel watched Elrond’s eldest son as he began gathering the materials, and bundling them back into their box.

“It was Rucin,” Elladan said. He spun around at a sound behind him and exclaimed in horror, “Glorfindel what do you think you are doing?” He ran over to the elder elf trying to press him back down onto the sofa, afraid the sudden movement would aggravate his injuries.

“You must take me to Legolas at once, I assume that is where your father is?” Glorfindel grunted out, through a jaw clenched against the pain in his chest.

“He should be by now, Elrohir went to fetch him.” Elladan sighed and changed his grip from one of resistance to one of support. He knew from experience that once Glorfindel had determined upon a course of action he would not be able to sway him from it.

Glorfindel ducked his head, even as he was aided to his feet by the young elf. He muttered to himself, paying no heed to the fact that his crutch had sharp, pointed ears. “It must have hit him hard, but that is only to be expected. Alas that he should find himself in this situation.”

They had reached the corridor now and Elladan turned an inquiring look at him. “You have seen this before then, you and father? What happened, what is happing to Legolas now?”

Glorfindel looked gravely down at the younger elf, before shaking his head at his foolishness for speaking his thoughts aloud. “I cannot say. Your father has not chosen to tell you, and it is not my secret to reveal.”

They took several steps further down the hall, nearing Legolas’ door. Glorfindel decided that he could at least prepare Elladan for some of what was coming. “Elladan, you must ready yourself for rough times.” He said. The grave face that looked back at him reflected the drawn, worried look upon his own. “Legolas will be in great pain, for you see, Rucin is a…”

They were interrupted by the voices of their father and brother, behind them.

“And mind what you say while you are in the room, Ada. Estel is still fragile, and if you say anything to harm him, you will be leaving the room very rapidly indeed. Am I understood?”

Turning, the two saw a bemused and greatly fatigued Elrond being dragged along by a furious Elrohir. At sight of Glorfindel the two stopped their wrangling, and approached with more dignity. They drew nearer eying Glorfindel for wounds, seeing the pain he tried to mask in the slump of his shoulders and his drawn features.

“Are you all right?” Surprisingly this was not either of the newly arrived pair asking about Glorfindel, but him about Elrond. The exhausted eyes that raised themselves to his meet his cut a hole through him. He stepped forward quickly and embraced his long-time friend, disguising the wince of pain as his ribs were crushed.

“My dear friend,” Elrond managed to choke out, “have you been back long? Oh I have had such need of you.” The arms tightened around his shoulders, and Elrond allowed himself to relax momentarily into them.

The twins looked at each other in confusion, and shrugged. Neither of them knew what was so troubling their father, nor how Glorfindel knew of it and not they. Finally the embrace broke.

“Come, let us enter and see to our young prince.”